My Forever Puppy: A Letter to My Soul Dog

Your absence is everywhere.

I lost you a month ago today, and still I grieve like it was just yesterday—when I was rubbing your soft ears and whispering how much I loved you. I held you close until you peacefully slipped away... and for several minutes longer, just to make sure every bit of your soul felt my love as you made your way to heaven.

How am I feeling, really?

I feel like my heart aches constantly. There’s this forever strain in my chest that won’t go away. I have cried nearly every day since you left—and somehow, there are still more tears left to shed.

Seventeen and a half years of loving you, caring for you, being wrapped up in the pure joy you brought me… gone in an instant.

Even as your body slowed, you were still my best boy. My forever puppy.

My soul dog.

Your special vest still rests on the dining room chair, your blanket folded nearby on the table. And your collar now sits atop a box that holds the earthly remains of the sweetest soul I’ll ever know.

Dog hair. Everywhere.

You shed more than any other dog I’ve known. If we weren’t sweeping up or vacuuming daily, we could have easily crafted another you from the tumbleweeds that drifted across the floors. Our clothes were always filled with reminders of you—no amount of lint-rolling ever quite did the trick.

Now, even with three other pups in the house, the floors are somehow cleaner. My clothes, less covered. There’s less need to chase the swirling bits of you scattered across every surface.

And yet, I miss every single bit of it.

I spread some of your ashes in the yard. After all, it’s your yard. I picked this house specifically for you—for that big yard you could finally call your own.

After years of living in a tiny condo, I dreamed of giving you space to run your happy puppy laps. To sniff and explore. To lounge in the sun. To allow your most perfect ears to flap in the wind while napping on the deck. It will forever be your yard, and it will forever feel empty without you here.

The day you left us, just before going to bed, we all went outside with the girls. I found myself stargazing—something I’ve done from time to time, but never with much real thought.

That night, I noticed two things. The first was next to the moon, glowing orange. The second was the brightest star I’ve ever seen.

After some quick research, I learned that the orange glow was Mars, sharing space with the beautiful moon. And that star? It was Sirius—both the brightest star in the sky and known as The Dog Star. Its place in the heavens? Part of Canis Major, the constellation of the Greatest Dog.

If that wasn’t a God wink, I don’t know what is.

Often associated with loyalty, guidance, protection, and vigilance, Canis Major symbolizes you, my beautiful boy. I like to think that after a lifetime of being all of this—and so much more—this is the place where all dogs, especially you, my sweetest boy, go to heaven.

As I thought of ways to honor and memorialize you, I learned that your birth flower is the Morning Glory. They so perfectly represent undying love, affection, resilience, and mortality. They symbolize the fleeting nature of life since they bloom in the morning and fade by night.

I’m so grateful for how you bloomed, adding pure joy and beauty to my life. And I’m just as grateful for how you faded—with strength, with grace, and with resilience—every step of the way.

“That you make me smile, please stay for a while now,
Just take your time, wherever you go…”
Bubbly by Colbie Caillat will forever by our song.

I will always remember our first visit to the vet. As we waited our turn in the waiting room, just getting started on our journey together, it was clear that someone else was nearing the end of theirs. As they prepared to say goodbye to their pup, I recall sitting there, choking back tears while gently petting your perfect puppy ears.

In that moment, I both dreaded the day I’d have to say goodbye… and vowed to give you the best life I possibly could.

And I did. With absolute certainty, I can say I gave you everything I had—and then some.
I also gave you a huge part of my heart… all the shattered pieces now resting with you since that dreaded morning.

While you’re off galavanting and zooming around heaven—no doubt begging for chicken treats—you’re still right here with me. Always.

I’m waiting on a beautiful piece that’s being made, something I’ll wear daily to keep you close.

I’ll think of you as I admire my Morning Glories, moon and star. I’ll think of you with all of the love in the world as I gaze up to the heavens. And I’ll look forward to the day we can be reunited again.

I prayed that when your time came, you would go peacefully in your sleep—never putting me in the awful position of making the most difficult choice of my life.

But God had other plans for us, didn’t He?

As you struggled, we found every which way to help you. When we were told surgery on your ruptured mass was risky, we prayed—and trusted in God’s assurance. I’m so grateful for our faith. Because of it, we were gifted another seven beautiful months. Seven more months of your yard. The holidays. All the ear rubs and treats you could ever want.

After your seizure, we tried everything we could, and while you rallied for a short while, you took a turn. I prayed again, asking God to make it clear what I needed to do to care best for you. And after my evening prayers, that following morning, He spoke to me so clearly.

Buddy, my heart wasn’t ready. Not even close.
But I knew I needed to give you this gift.

"Gift" feels like a strange word, but it’s the one God gave me that morning. And it truly was a gift—a release from your pain. That doesn’t mean it’s been easy.

However, God told me it was time.

My sweet boy… I don’t know how to do life without you. And I don’t know that my heart can ever heal. After all, you’re holding all the missing pieces now.

But what I do know is that I will love and miss you until my very last breath. And when that day comes, I’ll look forward to the most beautiful reunion with you in heaven.

I like to believe that your bright star will guide me straight back to you.

In loving memory of Colbi.
September 25, 2007 - March 8, 2025